


can you burn a fire in my flesh?

by Anonymous



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Abuse, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breeding, Come Inflation, Daddy Kink, F/M, Feyre is 17/18, Feyre is seventeen, Heavy Angst, In the Beginning, Issac rapes/beats her in the beginning, Lactation Kink, Lucien is 23, Lucien needs a hug too, Past Rape/Non-con, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Praise Kink, Pregnancy Kink, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sibling Incest, Size Kink, THIS IS DARKFIC, Tamlin and Feyre are brother and sister, Tamlin and Feyre need a hug, Tamlin is 25, Teen Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, at first there's not a lot of comfort though, but she's only 2 weeks away from her 18th, if you think about it, it is explicitly mentioned though, ok buckle in!, ok so i've actually plotted this out and it WILL BE FEYSAND ENDGAME, phew ok i think i got everything ?, there's a lot of pain/trauma feyre will have to work through, this is literal filth, this is not to say i will be hurrying in getting there
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:02:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29164647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Tamlin Spring, and his sister, Feyre Spring, share the same green eyes as their deceased parents. They share many other things as well, including a bed. When Lucien Vanserra finds out his best friend and his best girl are secretly fucking they try to make it work. Lucien cannot see past the darkness in their veins though.It seems only one man can see through the shadows that surround the brother and sister--Rhysand Night.Rhysand sees Tamlin's profound abuse for what it is--and knows Lucien has the moral backbone of a chocolate eclair.Though the situation is dire--Rhysand comes to visit a pregnant Feyre every morning, bringing her the food she so desperately needs--and maybe there were harsher ways to point out that fucking her brother is not the path she wants--but Rhysand has never been keen on harshness.an a court of thorns and roses dark fic.
Relationships: Feyre Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin, Feyre Archeron/Tamlin/Lucien Vanserra
Comments: 5
Kudos: 20
Collections: Anonymous





	1. i'm just somebody you used to love

**Author's Note:**

> WOOOOO ok. 
> 
> This absolutely the filthiest thing I have ever written and that's why it's on anon. This is 100% darkfic, and centered around rape recovery and learning one's limits. Tamlin will still be a little gruff in this, but he's wildly in love with Feyre. 
> 
> Lucien and Feyre have been friends since they were kids, and you can expect Lucien to get _really_ pissed when he finds out about Tamlin and Feyre. 
> 
> They work it out, I believe in Happily Ever Afters, even in dark fic. 
> 
> Please READ ALL TAGS BEFORE PROCEEDING

Feyre hated the bright lights and sirens of the ambulance. She’d asked them to keep the lights and sirens off and they had obeyed while she was still conscious. They were unloading her off the ambulance, and the bumping a jostling was making her head pound. She was trapped between deep sleep and semi-consciousness.

“Where am I? What hospital?” She asks as they get her into a bed, she can barely move and she wants her brother. She wants an iota of comfort.

“You’re at Boston General, and you’re in the emergency room.” A kind voice says.

She knows what happened—she doesn’t need to ask. “Issac, where’s Issac?”

There’s a pregnant pause, and a woman’s voice answers, “He’s down at the Police station, sweetheart.”

“O-ok.” Feyre does not inquire further.

*~*~*

She’d called him, and he’d come, and as the world swirls, blurs, and distorts with the pain medication they’ve given her in addition to the head injury—she can only feel a distinct sense of relief when the golden blonde of her older brother’s shoulder-length blonde hair swims into view.

The world fades, and she feels his calloused palm in her hand.

_She is safe._

*~*~*

She’s lucky she doesn’t remember most of her hospital stay. Because Tamlin was technically her legal guardian—with Feyre not eighteen for another two weeks—he was allowed to insist that a rape kit be done.

She’d been in the hospital for all of 12 hours, and it was just dawn when Tamlin was finally allowed to take her back to his home in the Berkshire Mountains. It was a long drive, and Tamlin rode in the back of the Chevy Tahoe with her the whole time.

He’s been worried sick about her. Issac Hale had never been one of his favorite people and he supposed the creepy feeling he’d gotten from his little sister’s boyfriend was right on the money.

He’d been in Boston, as he so often was—on business. He was supposed to be at a conference for his business, but he’d called the whole thing off—citing a family emergency as the reason for his brisk departure.

Feyre seems to do nothing but sleep, and Tamlin tends her wounds, the ire in his chest building until it reaches a crescendo and he has to go out to the garage and hit the punching bag particularly hard. He’s got a home gym, and he hits it up whenever that rage that simmers just below the surface threatens his happiness.

He hates Issac Hale and will see him rot in jail for many years before he ever comes near Feyre again. He’s got the money for lawyers, she’ll have a whole fucking legal team if that’s what it takes.

*~*~*

Feyre wakes the next morning, late. It’s easily almost noon. She finally gets out of bed, and her stomach gives a painful grumble. She’d eaten a little here and there, but mostly the pain medication had made her queasy and not too happy about eating.

“Hey,” She says to Tamlin, her voice is creaky with disuse and he’s working quietly on his computer.

She rubs her face, there are stitches on her lip—where Issac had split it. She is still broken and bruised—but her bruises are no longer black, and it’s been a full week since the attack.

“Hey princess,” Tamlin’s working in the kitchen, which makes sense, it was nearly lunchtime.

“Could I have some food?” Feyre says sitting down next to her brother.

“Sure, what do you want?” Tamlin tucks away his computer.

“Something greasy,” Feyre says, and tries to smile, but her lip smarts.

Tamlin snorts a laugh, “We could order in? There’s a Cracker Barrel in town, I’m sure their food is sufficiently greasy.”

Feyre nods, “Hashbrowns, 2 egg whites scrambled and the biggest Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream they have.”

Tamlin nods, “Coming right up, honey.”

Feyre looks happy—for the first time in so long.

*~*~*

Feyre, in the next several days, develops a slight preoccupation with getting off, in the safety of her room. She figured if she could override the bad memories of Issac hurting her—she might be able to move on in the physical sense. Her friend Lucien had often said Feyre needed to ditch Issac. Even going to the point of offering to hook up with her if she needed to move on in the physical sense.

Feyre didn’t know it yet but she would soon find that sex was one fo the few things that would console her. Lucien’s family knew hers and she and Lucien had practically grown up together. He would be the safe choice, for a rebound relationship, and she knew Lucien probably wouldn’t ask too much of her.

So after she finishes getting off with Hitachi Magic Wand that night… she texts Lucien.

**[Feyre]** Whaddup, whaddup?

 **[Lucien]** Missing you, boo.

 **[Feyre]** Aww that’s sweet, I’m out west, with my brother, I know you’re like an hour away but I miss you and I want to ask you if I could possibly ask you a favor?

 **[Lucien]** Is this the kind of offer I’m thinking it is?

 **[Feyre]** Possibly :)

 **[Lucien]** I would love to. Your bro knows me, so will he be cool with it?

 **[Feyre]** Yeah he’ll be fine with it—I’m going to invite Mor and Cassian over too—or at least say I am. He’s offered to let me have friends over and he will fuck off for the night.

 **[Lucien]** Sweet, see you soon?

 **[Feyre]** I’ll see you tonight? Eight o’clock ok with you?

 **[Lucien]** Perfect.

Feyre sighs, and thinks of actually getting some godforsaken pleasure out of her wretched life.

The door to her room swings open and Tamlin’s hulking frame is standing in her doorway.

“If you need to move on in the physical sense—“ Her brother begins.

Feyre’s mouth hangs open, “Get out!” She shrieks at him.

“Shush, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”

Feyre looks away, she’s naked and the juices from her latest session with her vibrator are still covering her thighs.

Her thighs are still shaking, Tamlin bites his lip, “I could make you feel good, Feyre, darling.”

She covers up, belatedly with the duvet on the bed.

“You’re scaring me,” Feyre says, her eyes beginning to prick with tears.

Tamlin’s manner softens, “I don’t want you to go through this alone. I’ve had to start taking business calls outside the house because you’re so loud with that damn wand.”

Feyre’s cheeks could not be a shade of red any darker than they were.

“Don’t tell me you don’t want it,” Tamlin says cockily.

And Feyre realizes, that she does want it, she has always wanted him—propriety be damned.

Tamlin’s voice is haunted, “I came as soon as I heard, pissed off the board of directors and all because my little sister got…”

“Raped?” Feyre supplies.

“I don’t know how you can even say the word,” Tamlin sounds devastated.

Feyre looks anywhere but her older brother’s strong, broad chest, and his ripped midsection. “I missed you, a lot. I don’t understand why you left me to be raised my nanny.”

Tamlin sinks down on her bed, and cups her face in his huge palm, “Baby, because I have wanted you for too long. Since I knew what it was to want, I have desired you.”

“Lucien will be here in a few hours—“ Feyre murmurs, “I don’t want to get caught.” As if she knows what her older brother wants from her and knows that Tamlin will take his time with her.

“Let me make you feel good, princess. Lucien doesn’t have to know—no one has to know.” Tamlin kisses Feyre’s soft hair.

“O-ok,” Feyre’s voice shakes with the force of her desire—and not fear for the first time in a long time.

Tamlin kisses her, and it feels like she is tasting a rainbow of emotions, not just fear, pain, and duty. Tamlin’s mouth is warm and firm on her, his massive hand lightly traces her nipple, which is already peaked.

She shudders, “I’m sensitive,” Feyre whines.

“I can tell,” Tamlin says a little smugly.

“I’m ovulating.”

Tamlin looks like he’s calculating. “I have condoms—“

Feyre swallows hard and watches as his hands cup her breasts leisurely, and she squirms under him. “I think you missed my point.”

Tamlin nods, but his tone is decisive when he speaks, “I’ll do whatever sexy breeding talk and roleplaying you want—but you need to heal before we have _that_ kind of sex.”

Feyre bites her lip, and after a moment, she nods.

He sinks two thick fingers into her pretty, pink pussy and she shudders at the pleasure, putting the back of her hand in her mouth, so she doesn’t scream her pleasure to the heavens.

After a few maddening pumps of his fingers, she’s trying to work his jeans off him. “P-Please, big brother.” He stands and rids himself of his jeans, the proud length of him springing forth. Feyre is mesmerized by her brother’s physique, the broad mushroom head of his cock, and every expertly defined muscle on him.

Tamlin puts his hand on her lower belly and gives her a look that would make any girl feel sexy.She blinks, and he’s slipped his fingers into her, gently crooking them so they hit something secret inside her.

Feyre’s golden blonde hair is fanned out around her head, like a halo, and her brother lowers his mouth to her clit, and begins to suck and lick her.

She has never known such bliss. Even her Hitachi made her feel empty and unfulfilled, but this—having another soul involved in fulfilling her need—it was heaven.

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” Tamlin says, “Does it feel good when I lick your kitty?”

Feyre nods her head, she’s biting her index finger, and her eyes have rolled back in her head. She loves this feeling—of being on cloud nine, of being complete. As if all the broken pieces of her were in her womb and when she was with him—she was full and whole again.

“It feels good, so good, gods,” Feyre clenches on his fingers and Tamlin mutters something along the lines of _pussy like a vice_.

She giggles, “I need your cock inside me, I need you to fill me with cum, make my belly swell with it.”

Tamlin growls, and she doesn’t care that he looks territorial and possessive, he won’t hurt her. She trusts him, and it means more to her than everything in the wide world.

Tamlin gives her pussy a final lick, and she hears foil tearing, and pressure against her slit.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” Tamlin groans, “Look at your brother when he fucks you.”

Feyre’s eyes snap open, and she’s glad he didn’t want her mouth on him—almost as if he’d known better than to ask.

Her eyes meet his—green on green. Feyre breaks the eye contact only when he is fully sheathed inside her. He’s easily the biggest, thickest male she’s ever had inside her.

“Are you alright?” Tamlin asks, tenderly.

She bites her lip, and rolls her hips, “Yes, I haven’t felt this good in too long.”

Tamlin is astride her but holds her in his arms as if to protect her from the world.

Tamlin begins with a soft, slow rhythm, and soon works them both into a frenzy, makes Feyre unable to say anything coherent, just _more, harder,_ and _gods above_.

They complete each other, and they don’t realize how long they’ve been going, Feyre has come at least four times, and on the last time, she is overstimulated and boneless.

The sound of the doorbell ringing sounds and Tamlin shudders as he comes for the second time, and her belly swells with the come in her womb. Tamlin had been coaxed into breeding her for real, after two hours of sex. She’d felt so hollow after he’d come in the condom and hadn’t given her any of his seed.

Finally, when her belly is wildly swollen with come, and a little drips down her thigh—she realizes the person ringing the doorbell frantically is likely Lucien.

They don’t have time to get the scent of sex out of Feyre’s room. “You have to go—“ Feyre says urgently.

“I’ll stall,” Tamlin says easily, and he gets dressed and she lays back for a moment, thinking of how good he’d felt, brushing the thick, mushroom head of his cock against her cervix. She’d have to take a morning-after pill and she would deal with that later.

She hears Lucien come in and Tamlin explains that Feyre is still in the shower. They both make jokes about _girls and their beauty regimens_. But there’s no heat behind it. She takes a brief shower, applies mascara and lip gloss, and does her hair.

Lucien looks a little tipsy, when she gets downstairs, and has finally extricated the last of Tamlin’s come from her womb.

Feyre slinks into the family room, and Lucien winks at her.

Tamlin says, “You guys can have the house, don’t get too drunk, and don’t wake the neighbors.”

Feyre laughs, a true bubbling laugh, “Don’t listen to him Lucien, our nearest neighbor is five miles away.”

Tamlin hugs Feyre, and ruffles her hair, and then departs.

She doesn’t know where he’s going—likely that he’ll go up to the ski lodge which is beautiful this time of year.

Lucien, gods bless him, doesn’t notice the look between the two siblings or doesn’t care. He does however pat the couch and kiss her cheek when she sits down.

“How’ve you been darling, Feyre?”

Feyre shrugs, “Same shit different day.”

Lucien gives her a sharp look, as if he knows it for the lie it is, “You want to Netflix and chill, or you want to get some food…”

“Food, and then maybe a movie, and then…” She grins at him, “Other things.”


	2. call me spineless but at least i've got a heart between my lungs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucien has always been tender with her breakable heart, their first coupling is no exception.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the depravity

Lucien has been a good friend, nearly a second brother, and he’s close with Tamlin. They go out, get pizza and wander around town. Lenox, the closest town to Tamlin’s manor home in the mountains, is an artsy place and has several galleries and art supply stores. Lucien offers bravely to go into any gallery she wants to see, for however long she wants.

Feyre can’t bring herself to look at the beautiful work of the local artists. “No, I won’t put you through three hours of looking at paint and canvas.”

“Are you sure princess?” Lucien offers generously, there’s something soft and desperate in his voice as if there was no price too high to pay to see her smile.

“Yeah, it hurts to think about painting and art,” Feyre says.

Feyre pulls herself away from the window display of paintings and murals and Lucien gets them ice cream.

“So, you want to go home and chill? Tam said it was cool if you stayed the night, or even the weekend,” Feyre asks.

Lucien licks his spoon, and she can’t help but feel a little dirty, a little like she’s allowing herself to be used, and Lucien must notice, “If you don’t want to—“

“I do,” Feyre says definitively.

“But?” Lucien asks as if he can sense her doubt.

“But, I want something that I’d rather discuss with you in private.”

Lucien nods, and they finish their ice creams and then go back to Lucien’s car, he seems to know that she’s thinking, and doesn’t interrupt her train of thought.

After fifteen minutes, they’re on the winding mountain road that leads to Tamlin’s place.

“I turn eighteen tomorrow,” Feyre says slowly as if she’s calculating.

“I know, I brought you a present,” Lucien says with a smirk.

Feyre continues, and they hold hands the rest of the way back, “I want you to be my boyfriend.”

Lucien squeezes her hand, his cheeks flushed, and a grin on his face, “Ok, one condition.”

Feyre pouts mercilessly, “Let’s hear it.”

“You have to tell Tamlin, and if he gives his blessing I’m good with it,” Lucien says. Of course, Tamlin would give his blessing, Tamlin and Lucien were brothers in all but blood.

A thread of nervousness goes through her at telling Tamlin and essentially asking for his permission for her to fuck his best friend. She didn’t want to see Tamlin’s legendary temper make an appearance.

“Ok, that’s fine,” Feyre replies, bravely.

Lucien pulls into the drive, and they go back into the house, and by the time they stumble into Feyre’s bedroom, it no longer reeks of Tamlin and Feyre’s sex marathon. It’s nearly midnight, and the light of the moon is illuminating Lucien’s amber eyes.

They stand there for a moment, she loves the feel of his strong arms around her, and nothing about this is wrong, nothing about this is forbidden.

Lucien kisses her, and one of his hands slides up her waist, just below her breast.

Feyre opens her mouth to him, as if to say, _more, my love, more_.

And Lucien obliges.

She wonders how she’d held out this long, for Lucien’s love, wondered how she’d given all her firsts to a man who never cared for her. But maybe firsts weren’t what mattered, perhaps it was only the last kiss she shared that mattered.

Lucien lays her down on the bed, and then—pauses, “I want you on top.”

Feyre is blushing, “I kind of suck at being on top… I don’t mind you being on top of me…”

Lucien kisses her and helps rid her of her dress, and then Lucien is stripping too, and she helps him with his belt, and they settle on the bed, with him on his side, next to her.

“There are other… positions.” Lucien offers and brushes his hand over her breast, still covered by a pretty, light purple, lace bra. “Fuck you're beautiful,” Lucien groans.

Feyre whines, “Don’t tease.”

Lucien knows this for the lie it is, and easily takes off her bra, by pinching the clasp.

“I can top from the bottom too—“ Lucien’s mouth is on her breast now, one being teased with his mouth and one with his fingers. He sucks a licks her, switches sides and the cool caress of the air on her breast is lovely.

She’s soaking for him now, and she gives him a pleading look, “Lucien, please, I’m so wet for you,” She says breathlessly.

Lucien kisses her, and then he’s shifting her black lace thong out of the way, he rubs a few short circles on her clit, and Feyre cries out in pleasure.

“Gods, Lucien,” Feyre says, she’s so damn sensitive.

He holds her as he fingers her little pussy, “My good girl, my sweet, good girl,” Lucien praises her, and she can’t—she can’t hold on—he’s hitting something inside her, something secret and all-consuming.

The praise, she’s never been praised in bed before and it’s nearly too much for her. She shudders, and cries out, gripping Lucien’s shoulder hard, and spasming around him.

He kisses her neck, and then kisses all along her collarbone, allowing her to recover.

Feyre whines, she’d nearly blacked out, it had been _that_ good, and just from his fingers, “I need it,” Feyre whimpers, “I’m ready.”

Lucien grins, and they change positions, and Lucien lays her out on her side, and Lucien spoons her, it’s an intensely intimate position. She feels as if she’s sharing not only hr body with Lucien but part of her soul too. She knows he will not fuck her, not as Tamlin did, not like any former lover.

He’s tender as he slides into her, and she doesn’t even think of protection, doesn’t give a single goddamn about getting pregnant. She’d always wanted a family—a big one.

She feels the press of his cock at her entrance, and he kisses her shoulder. It’s so tender she nearly cries, no one has ever loved her like this.

“P-Please.” Feyre whimpers.

Lucien sinks slowly into her, gives her a moment to adjust, and then rocks his hips.

She doesn’t know how long they stay like that, how long they make love, or whatever she’s calling it these days. All she knows is that she climbs higher and higher with every stroke, every movement of his hips is heaven and hell—because it is so much and yet not enough at the same time.

“Fuck,” Feyre swears finally, and Lucien’s hand goes to the apex of her thighs, and rubs circles into swollen, aching clit. She reaches behind her and brings her lover closer, and whispers, “Harder, sweetheart.”

So their lovemaking turns more frantic, more desperate, as they both chase their highs. Feyre cries out, her release washing over her like waves over the beach. She clenches hard around Lucien, and his hand slows, but he still fucks her through her orgasm, and then finally he comes inside her, and his hand goes to her lower belly, as the first ropes of his come begin to fill her.

“F-Fuck, Lucien,” Feyre whines, “Gods that feels good—s-so full of your come.”

Lucien hums, and finally, when she’s got a little bump of come showing as if she was in her first weeks of pregnancy—he kisses her and pulls out.

Feyre sighs, and some of the white, warm come flows out of her, down her thighs making them sticky and wet.

“I’ll get you cleaned up, honey,” Lucien says tenderly.

Feyre pouts, but agrees, “Alright,” she smiles at him.

And for a moment she is not broken, is not a doll to be used and abused—she is loved and cherished.

When Lucien has deemed her cleaned up, they go downstairs and get something warm to drink.

Feyre sleeps better than she has in months.

*~*~*

Tamlin wakes at daybreak, which is rather late at this time of year, just after seven.

He lifts and then goes for a run on the treadmill, and finally, around nine he goes to the ski lodge’s cafe for breakfast.

He orders eggs and toast, with black coffee. His phone goes off.

**[Feyre]** I miss you.

 **[Feyre]** Lucien sleeps in, he won’t be awake for a while.

 **[Feyre]** I’m glad you’re my brother.

 **[Tamlin]** Miss you too, princess.

 **[Tamlin]** I’ll be home around noon.

 **[Tamlin]** He was good to you right?

 **[Feyre]** Yes, of course.

 **[Tamlin]** Did he make your kitty all full and sticky.

 **[Feyre]** Mhmm, he was good to me, baby.

 **[Tamlin]** Good. I love you, see you this afternoon.

 **[Tamlin]** Happy birthday, love.

She wonders how she will balance them. They may have been friends, but that didn’t mean they would stand for what was going on. She wanted _so_ many babies with them—she wanted to be full of their come every night.

She falls back asleep on the couch and is only awoken when Tamlin comes striding in hours later. She and Lucien had been up late, and she was tired.

Tamlin brushes her shoulder as she stretches. “Morning,” he says with a laugh.

“Hey, if you’d been up getting railed into oblivion until 5 am you’d be tired too.”

Tamlin grins and kisses her.

“I’m just glad you had a good time.”


	3. before you go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A fight, and a reconciliation.

Lucien wakes around half after twelve, and Tamlin and Feyre are whispering in quiet voices, some cold waffles await Lucien in the kitchen.

Feyre looks tired but happy. Lucien eats and has some tea, then flops down on the couch—pulling Feyre into his lap.

He kisses her hair, and smirks, Tamlin makes himself scarce for a few minutes, while Feyre and Lucien kiss each other good morning, and Lucien brushes sweet kisses to her temples, her forehead her throat. Feyre giggles, and it is such a happy noise, Tamlin wonders if he makes her that happy—if he could ever?

Feyre and Lucien end their make-out session but decide to stay entwined in each other’s arms.

“Feyre?” Tamlin calls from his hiding place in the kitchen.

“What’s up?”

“Is it safe to come out now—or am I at risk of seeing my sister ravished?”

Lucien stifles a laugh, and Feyre freezes. She hadn’t thought about how seeing her and Lucien together like this might affect him. “We’re not—“ Lucien chooses this moment to press two fingers to Feyre’s extremely sensitive nipple. A soft sigh, a sigh Tamlin knows _intimately_.

“I’m going to go do some work, don’t fuck each other on my couch please.” There’s a rueful tone in Tamlin’s words as if he wished he was the one under Feyre’s thumb.

Lucien flicks on the TV, and they watch the news, while Lucien talks about what they should do for her birthday. “I want to take you to the aquarium,” Lucien says.

She nods, “That sounds nice, is it mostly fish, or do they have dolphins and whales?”

Lucien explains that there’s a shark, and it’s only about a half-hour drive, and the aquarium recently got some polar bears—at which Feyre gives an excited squeak, and leaps into Lucien’s lap.

They are young and in love, and they don’t notice Tamlin watching, and even if they had they wouldn’t have cared. He is invisible.

Until he’s not.

Tamlin is all too aware of the press of his temper, of his absolutely brutish nature. “Lucien a word? Feyre, honey, why don’t you get ready for the aquarium?”

Feyre looks between them for a moment and knows her brother isn’t someone to be disobeyed—not because he’d hurt her—quite the opposite, but she’s concerned about what Tamlin will say to Lucien.

She passes Tamlin, eyes downcast, and her hands clenched into fists.

Lucien and Tamlin are alone for a long moment. Tamlin, sighs, rubs the back of his neck, and Lucien blurts out, “Sorry bro—I know she’s your sister,” Lucien shrugs, “I’ve been in love with her since we were about sixteen, it’s hard to see her go through this alone. She just seemed so damn happy.”

Tamlin frowns, “She’s not alone, _she has me_.”

Lucien nods, and rolls his shoulders, “I’m one of your closest friends, Tam, what’s up?”

Tamlin bites his lip, and sits down next to Lucien, “I can’t tell you.”

Lucien nods, “Do you—do you want me to guess?”

This was often a game they’d played when they were younger. _I can’t tell you_ , Tamlin would say when his parents had sworn him to secrecy about some family issue had arisen, concerning the family fortune—or some scandal. Lucien would often lob guesses at Tamlin until Tamlin simply nodded, and Lucien would soothe his best friend’s worry with kisses and his mouth on Tamlin’s cock.

After a brief pause, Tamlin nods.

“Is it about Feyre?”

“Warm,” Tamlin said, when they played this game, if they were alone they’d give each other hints. Warm or hot meant Lucien was getting closer, and cold or cool would mean he was getting further away from what was bothering Tamlin.

Lucien sucks in a breath, “Is Feyre—is she pregnant from that _asshole_?”

Tamlin responds, “Cold.”

Lucien stops to think for a moment, “Is it about… Feyre and I?”

“Cool.”

Lucien sighs, “Is it about you and Feyre?”

“Hot.”

Lucien looks momentarily confused, “Is it about her birthday?”

Tamlin makes a face, and looks unsure how to respond, “Can I just tell you?”

Lucien nods, but he seems to know how badly this truth is weighing down Tamlin.

“I—“ The words come out in a rush, and Tamlin’s not sure what Lucien will say or do, “I fucked Feyre, and I’m deeply crazy about her.”

Tamlin doesn’t see the punch coming, Lucien’s on his feet, and has sucker-punched Tamlin’s eye before Tamlin can even respond. Tamlin, through sheer brute strength—tackles Lucien, the eye that Lucien punched is swelling to epic proportions.

“Are you insane?” Lucien barks at Tamlin, “She was just raped and you—you disgusting piece of filth!” Lucien shouts and pins Tamlin.

Tamlin had always been stronger, but Lucien more agile. As they breathe hard, and Tamlin flips them, his fist poised to do real damage to Lucien’s face, “Stop. It. Right. Now.” Feyre says icily from the bottom of the stairs, just feet from them.

“Lucien and I were having a discussion,” Tamlin says, using the moment to steady his hulking body over Lucien while gripping Lucien’s shirt painfully.

“Don’t _lie_ to me, Tam.”

“Feyre—“ Lucien says breathlessly. “Say it isn’t true.”

Feyre’s back goes ramrod straight, “It’s true.”

Lucien gapes at his girlfriend, or rather ex-girlfriend.

Tamlin lets Lucien go, and Lucien stumbles to his feet and looks imploringly at Feyre.

“I should report this,” Lucien says and takes Feyre’s hand.

She rips it from his grip, “He didn’t hurt me, I wanted it.”

Lucien thinks he might be sick. “D-do you love him?”

Feyre’s expression softens, “Yes, just as much as I love you.”

Lucien hears Tamlin getting up, and wandering into the kitchen—likely for a bag of frozen peas to put on his injured face.

“It’s unnatural, it’s disgusting,” Lucien says, but without much conviction, “He didn’t—he didn’t hurt you?”

“No, he would no sooner hurt me than he’d hurt you.” Feyre tucks a stray lock of Lucien’s hair out of his face. “But now you’ve hurt my brother and I need to take care of him, why don’t you go to the grocery store, and get me a birthday cake?”

Lucien frowns, “I was going to make you something,” Lucien says in a defeated tone.

“Please Lucien,” Feyre begs, she reaches on tiptoe and kisses Lucien’s cheek, “Please don’t report us.”

Lucien frowns, “He’s an ass—“

“He’s _my ass_. Just as much as you are.”

Lucien seems confused but grabs his keys and heads to the grocery store. Tamlin emerges from the kitchen, looking worse for the wear and Lucien still can’t figure out how he got the drop on Tamlin.

Feyre goes to Tamlin, and hugs him, kisses his good cheek, and then kisses him, on the lips. Lucien watches and then disappears through their manor home’s front door.

“Are you ok?” Feyre says quietly.

“Fine, he’s hit me harder,” Tamlin says gruffly.

“Let me see,” Feyre asks, and Tamlin peels away the bag of peas and she winces, “Ouch, looks like he really got you.”

“Feyre you know he could ruin me right?”

Feyre nods, “But he won’t.” She says with confidence she doesn’t feel.

“Why—why wouldn’t he?” Tamlin says sounding confused.

“Because he’s just as much in love with you as he is with me, Tam, he tells me everything, he’s mentioned on more than one occasion that he cared about you—in a non-platonic way.”

Tamlin shakes his head and looks annoyed, “Something about seeing him completely ignore me and basically try to fuck you in my living room—“

“It hurt, right?” Feyre responds.

“Were you watching me get angry?”

“I was, which why I tried to get him to stop.”

“I love you, Feyre,” Tamlin’s voice cracks on her name, “I love you so much and I love him too. I just don’t know how this would ever work out—how can this work and not break our hearts?”

Feyre kisses him, and it is tender and sweet, “It’s my birthday, and I’d like to have you both tonight.”

Tamlin grins, and nods.


	4. your love is a devil undercover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A party, a fight, a deal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> reminder to read all the tags, i've gone through great lengths to tag this properly.

Lucien returns to the sounds of laughter and Feyre’s giggling. He’s got a beautiful red velvet cake with _Happy 18_ _th_ _Birthday Feyre!_ On it, in green writing, he hopes it’s enough—furthermore, he hopes he will be enough.

Tamlin and Feyre are roughhousing and Tamlin is dry humping Feyre while she’s pinned to the floor under his considerable weight. Lucien frowns, but this must be normal behavior for siblings that are fucking each other, right?

Lucien lets them have at it on the living room carpet, he puts the cake in the fridge, knowing his affections are not going to be noticed.

*~*~*

Feyre was just putting in her dress. Supposedly there would be a party tonight, Tamlin said he was friendly with the neighbors, the ones that were five miles away, and that they’d be coming over to celebrate. She wondered what her school friends were doing tonight—probably nothing—it was close to midterms, and college acceptance letters would be coming in the mail very soon.

She wonders if she would have liked to go to college—she’s applied to a few state schools, and one or two reach schools. She couldn’t help but to think about her future. Feyre had white-knuckled her way through nearly four years of high school—before finally giving up. She’d sent in her papers to drop out of her prep school.

She hoped—prayed, and wished that the signs she was showing were that she was merely sick—and not worse.

So she dresses in a full length, evergreen colored evening gown. It matched her eyes and made the blush of her cheeks look dazzling. She slides into the silken garment and makes sure her bruises from Tamlin’s roughhousing are covered up.

She doesn’t want to consider what the neighbors would say if they saw the hand-shaped bruise on her thigh through the elegant slit in her dress.

Lucien would likely be blamed but that didn’t mean she wanted to have the blame fall on one of her boyfriends.

She slips on her heels and sees Tamlin standing in the door, dark jeans, a dark button-up shirt, and his light hair—cut.

“You cut it all off,” Feyre’s gaping. He looks—younger and very hot. “It looks really good.” Feyre eyes the bottle of Moët in his hand.

“This is for us,” Tamlin says softly, acknowledging the bottle in his hand, “Are you alright?” he asks tenderly, and she knows he’s just trying to care for her, trying to make up for their rough and tumble fuck fest on the living room floor.

Feyre sighs, but doesn’t show him the marks he’s left behind. “I’m fine, honey, really.”

Tamlin grins, and begins talking about how he’s had the ballroom—she didn’t even know there was a ballroom in this house—decked out in honor of her eighteenth. “The neighbors are coming over, Azriel and Cassian are fun, so is Kallias—but Mor is a viper, and her cousin—Rhysand is a dick.”

Feyre listens without comment.

Finally, when Tamlin notices she’s just moving things around on her dresser, he takes her by the wrist and shows her the ballroom.

It’s decked out in the Spring family crest, and the colors of spring. It’s cheerful, especially given that it’s so chilly out, she thinks of how much work—and money went into making her birthday nice on such short notice. Tamlin hadn’t known until two weeks ago that she’d be home for her birthday.

“Thank you—“ Feyre’s voice shakes with unspent emotion.

Tamlin kisses her forehead, and Lucien trots down the stairs and into the ballroom, dressed in much the same attire as Tamlin. Lucien kisses Tamlin gingerly on the lips, and Tamlin swats his ass.

“Ok, love birds.” Feyre giggles.

“I’m going to go let the others we’re ready for them, Rhysand’s been texting.”

Tamlin laughs, and under his breath groans, so only Feyre can hear him, “ _God I hate that man._ ”

Feyre doesn’t want to know—she just wants to dance and forget her worries. The music kicks on and the lights go down.

She pops open the bottle of Moët and pours herself a glass, the bubbles tickle her nose, and the people from next door—and about fifty other people come in.

Feyre’s eyes go wide, they walk in like they own the place, and Feyre already doesn’t like the ringleader. Rhysand Night is a vividly striking man. Tall and powerfully built, but not bulky like her brother. His violet eyes seem to have stars in them, and while she’s drooling over him—he winks at her and she swallows down the entire glass of champagne.

Rhysand approaches her, seeming more and more a cocky asshole with every step he took closer to her. “Hello, Feyre darling.” Rhysand croons in her ear.

“H-Hi.” Feyre tries not to comment on the people he’s brought into her house.

Rhysand grins, flashing a row of pearly white, perfectly straight teeth at her, “These are our friends, they heard there was going to be a banger at the Spring’s place and everyone knows Tamlin throws the best parties, it _is_ Fire Night, after all.”

Feyre looks quizzically at Rhysand, now directly in her personal space, and explains, “Fire Night is a local celebration, to celebrate the end of winter.”

Feyre frowns, it had snowed a dusting that morning—“You can get out of my space now, loser.”

Rhysand’s face falls—the hurt showing momentarily before he grins and a blonde girl whisks him off to the punch bowl.

*~*~*

_Circles_ by Post Malone is playing, and there are now at least a hundred people in Tamlin’s ballroom. Feyre is dancing with Tamlin and a red-haired guy who seems to know Lucien very well.

She’s beyond drunk, maybe a little sloppy. Tamlin had allowed her to consume the bottle of Moët by herself, saying that _if you really want to get drunk expensive champagne isn’t the way to go_. He’d sighed fondly though, and now as the room spins and Tamlin’s face blurs—she can’t remember being happier.

The bruises Tamlin left—no longer hurt and she feels no shame from dancing with her brother. Their guests seem too drunk, high, or stoned to give a damn about who Tamlin and Feyre are dancing with.

She feels no pain—no emotion.

She is blissfully blank.

And when the lights and sounds die down, and she’s sipping water, the last of the guests are leaving she hears shouting.

“You filthy piece of—!”

But whoever is speaking is cut off by the sound of flesh hitting flesh, the dull thud of Tamlin’s temper getting the best of him. She hears and crack, and a feral snarl, and stumbles off to see if there’s anything she can do.

Rhysand is spitting blood onto the floor, at Tamlin’s feet.

“If I’d have known you were using your sister as a cum receptacle I wouldn’t have brought my brothers and my cousin—no one needs to see that shit.”

Shame burns her cheeks, “Rhys—“ She tries to shout, but her voice comes out unsteady.

Tamlin turns like an angry bull on her—his eyes bulging and a vein throbbing in his temple. He bellows, “Get out of here!” at Feyre, and then launches his body at Rhysand.

She doesn’t know what makes her stop Tamlin. She likely will look back on this moment and call it temporary insanity—but it’s not.

It’s the goodness in Feyre’s heart knowing what’s right—Rhysand, and what’s wrong—Tamlin.

She’s too drunk to think about consequences, and when she dives between the two men—Tamlin tries to slow his assault, tries to push Feyre roughly aside.

She’s panicking, her heart leaping into her throat—she’s going to be crushed.

But Rhysand easily moves her aside, her small body in the clear as Rhysand takes the burnt of Tamlin’s fists.

Feyre sobs and she’s trying to remember how this was supposed to be a celebration and not a flashback to the night she was raped and beaten bloody by her high school sweetheart.

Lucien finds them and pulls Tamlin off Rhysand.

Rhysand’s nose is crumpled, his chest heaving in pain. Cassian and Azriel slip into the ballroom—the hulking brothers seem to know exactly what had happened.

Azriel toys with a ring on his finger and Cassian puts on a pair of brass knuckles.

Rhysand doesn’t have to say anything—Azriel and Cassian sic themselves on Tamlin.

Rhysand gently takes her arm and walks quietly with her outside, while Azriel and Cassian do his dirty work.

“Rhysand, are you—“

“Hurt? Bleeding? In pain? Yes to all of those questions, but…” Rhysand takes a crumpled pack of clove cigarettes from his pocket and lights one of them. He inhales shakily, the sweet smell of the cloves making her mouth water. “It was worth it Feyre.”

Feyre has sobered up a little— “What do you mean it was worth it?”

Rhysand scoffs in a disgusted sort of way, “You don’t fuck family,” he says angrily, “I’m sorry your brother is so awful to you.”

Feyre shakes her head, “I initiated it,” Feyre says slowly, knowing it was only partially true, knowing that he’d come into her room and essentially begged her to fuck him. She’d thought about it of course, in the past, in the darkest hours of her time with Issac. But that was because Tamlin had been a good older brother—always providing food and money and whatnot. She supposed now that was how older brothers—especially ones in control of your considerable inheritance were supposed to act though.

Rhysand, gives a shaky laugh, “He’s nearly thirty and you just turned legal, why do I doubt that—?”

Feyre makes a noise of frustration, “Why do you care?”

Rhys looks away,and shakes his head, “I just do, ok?” His voice had gone soft and tender.

“I’m sorry about tonight, Tamlin will—“

“He won’t,” Rhysand says with such surety she almost believes him.

“I don’t know what to do, I don’t have anywhere to go!” Feyre rages.

“It would be… neighborly… of me to offer you a place to stay.”

Feyre looks away—she didn’t want his charity.

“I’m sorry about tonight,” Feyre says a little stiltedly.

“I’m sorry, too, but I’m still going to extend the olive branch, _come stay with me_?”

Feyre contemplates for a long moment, and then nods, she packs a bag quickly and disappears into the starry night with Rhysand.


	5. the worst of times (my only hope)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment of deceit so profound it shakes the pillars of the earth, and a moment of kindness that makes the stars shine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE IS A FAIRLY GRAPHIC RAPE SCENE IN THIS CHAPTER--feyre is raped by lucien/tamlin/eris.

Feyre’s stay is over before it even begins. They have just gotten to Rhysand’s car when Lucien appears, Lucien looks like he’s discovered a dog being naughty.

“Feyre, what are you doing with Rhysand?” Lucien’s low timbre, the sinister tone in his voice, it makes her shake.

“Rhys was just going to let me stay at his place, you know—while Tamlin—ah… recovers,” Feyre says haltingly.

“Lucien—“ Rhysand begins to intercede.

“Feyre isn’t leaving, are you sweetheart?”

Feyre rolls her eyes, “You know sometimes you can be almost as bad as Tamlin!” Feyre snarls at Lucien.

Lucien’s manner drops, and the man with fire in his veins is revealed, he takes Feyre and picks up her things, and walks her calmly inside.

Rhysand seems deterred by this turn of events. She hadn’t wanted to go with Lucien, but she loved her brother and his best friend, loved them to pieces, and she knew she was burning the candle at both ends—what with Issac’s attack and taking nearly no time to just _be_. She was exhausted, inside and out.

“Why were you so rude to him?” Feyre asks as soon as they’re alone.

“Rhysand’s cronies broke Tamlin’s jaw.” And just like that, with a few carefully placed words she is ensconced in their double-edged love.

“W-what? Has he gotten medical attention?” Feyre’s bottom lip is quivering, this night needed to end, this nightmare that was her life needed to end.

Lucien frowns, “Eris took him, Tamlin wanted me to take care of you.”

“Who’s Eris?” Feyre asks, confusion plain on her face.

Lucien snorts a laugh, “The guy who looked like me—only with shorter hair and—more of an asshole-ish disposition.” Lucien sweeps a mocking bow, “But there’s only one of me.”

“He’s your brother?”

“Mhmm.”

“He was—“

Lucien rolls his eyes, and she feels a wave of fear and panic sweep through her—and then it’s gone as soon as it had come, “Hot? You’d like him to rail you and fill you up with so much come?”

Feyre’s fingers itch to slap her best friend, “No.” Feyre deadpans, “Last I checked I only let you and my insolent brother do that.”

Lucien kisses her hair, “Let me run you a bath.”

“Are you angry with me Lucien?” Feyre asks, feeling the warmth of his body press against her chilly back—and other things pressed against her ass too. She gives a little purr because this is where she’s comfortable. This is not outside her comfort zone. She knows Lucien will at least attempt to take care of her and Tamlin. Tamlin—gods above what she going to do about her stupid, idiot brother. He was in so much trouble and they were lucky the cops hadn’t been called.

Lucien sighs, he brushes his lips to her throat, “I’m going to get you nice and stretched out so we can all fuck you.”

Feyre feels bewilderment and a strange sense of unease trickle into her awareness.

Eris and Tamlin step out from the shadows.

She knows that look in a man’s eyes, she knows the hungry, almost starved look Tamlin is giving her. Eris was hot too, but not like this, not with the fire of desperation burning in his blue eyes. She freezes, like a goddamn deer in headlights. She was so horribly stupid—so naive. There was only one reason Lucien’s hands would be on her wrists, now pinning them painfully back.

She struggles wildly, and she should have known this was coming, should have known, as she’s frog marched into her bedroom, as she’s stripped of her clothing—that Tamlin would never settle for her willful submission to him. She’s weak from many weeks of not working out, from not eating and resting to get her strength back from Issac’s attack.

Eris holds her down, and her big brother, the one who had bandaged her scraped knees, and told her pretty lies about himself—he enters her pussy roughly. It hurts, and she tries to scream, Eris gags her with her own panties.

Tamlin’s strokes are deep and brutal. The gag is removed when Tamlin has spent his load in her, but only so Lucien can have her bruised and broken pussy and Eris can have her mouth.

There is no escape, there is no hope for her.

No matter how she screams, Rhysand does not come to her aid.

*~*~*

Several weeks after her brother’s attack, she’s healing, and Tamlin and Lucien are giving her the cold shoulder—as if she were a used condom—once she was used for their pleasure she was disgusting. Rhys comes over with apple fritters one day, and she sits down and eats one gingerly with him.

Tamlin has returned to work—Lucien to school.

And she was stuck here, caged in the house where it had all happened.

“You want to go out?” Rhys offers.

“Where? With what money…? I don’t have a car and Tamlin—“ Her voice creaks on her brother’s name. “Nevermind.”

The finger marks on her neck are still healing, and she wonders if she’d covered them up well enough with concealer this morning. A shadow passes over Rhysand’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Rhysand apologizes, “for not pressing Lucien, for not coming—“

Feyre cuts him off, “Don’t say that, you don’t know what you’re saying.”

Rhys nods dully, “I’ll keep coming, I’ll keep bringing pastries and coffee, whatever helps.”

She doesn’t want to know how he suspects or knows what her situation is.

Feyre, for all her worth, will never know why or how she attracts the worst of men and she has to wonder if Rhysand is just another creep looking for a victim.

“I don’t want help,” Feyre says woodenly.

“Yes you do,” Rhysand says softly, and kindly.

Feyre wants to ask why they can’t run away. But that would imply that she trusted Rhysand and that was not strictly true.

*~*~*

More weeks pass, and there is a very obvious problem now.

Feyre is pregnant, and it’s a fact that’s getting harder to hide. She’s sick every morning, eats either nothing at all or everything insight—she feels like she’s been run over by Tamlin’s Range Rover most nights.

She hasn’t stopped letting her brother have her either.

Rhys seems to be getting more and more desperate.

“Come with me,” he says, standing in the doorway to the in-law's apartment, where she’d moved to last week.

They’d just had a terrible thunderstorm, and Tamlin had stayed in town at his office. “What?”

After all these weeks, with him coming over every morning to bring her food, to talk to her, she realizes they have formed a bond—Rhysand’s violet eyes seem to shimmer in the bright daylight, the blue sky and green leaves at his back. “Come with me, to New York City.”

Feyre should say no.

She should say no a thousand times, and she doesn’t have to think, it had been impractical for her to go and stay with Rhys here—if not impossible. Tamlin would find them and she would surely suffer another night like her birthday.

“Are you sure you want to have me around—?” Feyre asks a little stiltedly. She cannot help the fear in her heart at the idea of getting attached to another man.

Rhysand, scoops her up off the couch, “Go shower, pack a bag, and be outside in forty-five minutes, ok?”

Her baby bump is clearly visible—it looks like a baby bump now too, not just her jeans being ill-fitting.

So she goes to the shower, and gets clean, does her hair, and packs a small bag of her things.

They hit the road, and she tells Rhysand _everything_. How Tamlin had played her, the brutal rape on her birthday, and everything with Issac as well, including how she was now being ignored by Tamlin and her ex-boyfriend, Lucien.

Rhysand stays quiet while she explains the half-year of misery she’s endured. It’s late spring now, and everything is in bloom.

“I’m so sorry—“ Rhysand begins, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it, and I’m even more sorry you thought you were alone.”

Feyre doesn’t know what to say, so she’s quiet.

“I wish you would have told me, because—“ Rhysand sighs as if deciding whether or not to tell Feyre a terrible truth, “Because my sister did much the same thing to me—when I was about your age.”

Feyre inhales sharply, “I had no idea, oh Rhys I’m so sorry.”

Rhys blinks hard a few times, “I thought he was just beating you—that the child was Lucien’s.”

Feyre screws up her face, “I don’t know whose it is, to be honest.”

Rhysand grips Feyre’s hand—as if for support and pulls them into a rest stop.

He buys her a new phone—a burner—and tells her to throw her old phone in the toilet.

She does exactly as he says.

They’ve been driving for an hour, and they’re not even into Southern New York yet.

“Call the cops, report him,” Rhysand says a furious edge to his voice, and hands her the burner phone.

“I don’t want to,” Feyre says weakly.

Rhysand sighs, “I’ll do it if you don’t want to, love.”

So Feyre listens while Rhysand speaks to the cop on his Bluetooth headset, and the nature of what they’re doing is laid out in full.

Several hours later, when the ball is rolling, and they’ve been driving for a grand total of six hours, they pull up to a manor home in the heart of New York.

Feyre walks in and feels like she’s at the Plaza Hotel.

It is stunning, and for once—she feels at home immediately.


End file.
